


Lost Control

by withinmelove



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Feelings, Frottage, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: James gets dosed with sex pollen and must find someone to soothe the symptoms otherwise it's 72 hours of agony. The choice is clear to him. Q is the only one who can and will help.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 6
Kudos: 173
Collections: MI6 Cafe Collections





	Lost Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).



> This is a gift for Only_1_Truth who has written fantastic 00q! I wanted to repay her hard work that I'm slowly reading through with this sex pollen fic. I hope you enjoy it and even if I sometimes drop off on commenting for a week or two just know that I'm still going to back to your fics <33 Usually real life or low motivation keeping me from commenting 24/7.
> 
> **Comments, kudos and critiques are very much welcomed!**

Bond is not used to being out of control. Sure, he’s felt unbridled rage, vengeance, sorrow, and the like. But nothing has ever consumed him to the point of mindlessness. Reckless is his middle name—but not careless. 

This was supposed to be a cakewalk of a mission right at home. 

James had agreed to meet with a middleman to do the trade off of money and names of the collaborative gangs working in a sex trafficking ring. It spans the globe and M had sent him in to get the information. 

Of course, nothing’s ever so bloody simple as that. It’s his own foolishness for allowing himself to believe that lie. For God’s sake, he’s only a couple blocks from MI6. The trap is perfectly planned to lull him into a false sense of security.

So shoot him--he’s not particularly planning to be drugged today during the trade off. The middleman turns out to be a young woman absolutely so normal he initially overlooks her in the cafe which is their meeting place. 

“James?” 

He looks to where a woman’s voice has called for him. She’s not the usual stunning type that bad guys tend to hire but more a normal person. Blond hair, glasses, and a short petite body.

She waves a little fluttering of her fingers. “Hi, I’m Olive! I believe we were meeting to swap?” Olive asks with a smile and outstretched hand. James puts on his winsome smile and shakes her hand. They are slightly damp as if she’s just washed them. Subtly he brushes his hand against his trousers once he sits down. Idly she chatters, offering to buy James a drink which he accepts.

The coffee shop seems to have turned up their heat as he’s getting quite warm. It seems the same with Olive, as she is fanning herself with a brochure from the table. The sounds of people chattering and the clinking of plates grates on his nerves. They’re too loud. 

“You’re feeling the effects as well, right?” Olive chuckles, wiping the slight perspiration from her forehead. Bond’s spine tingles with unease. Something isn’t right about this.

“What do you mean?”

Paying closer attention to her, he sees that her pupils have dilated as if she’s taken ecstasy. It would explain the light sweating from both of them.

Olive leans in, voice hushed. “It’s something new with chemical warfare. Make love, not war, in the truest sense.” Her eyes glint from the shop’s lights. A sickening realization dawns of why her hand had been damp when he shook it upon first meeting.

“What did you do to me?” James hisses, even as arousal curls lazily in his stomach.

The darkness of her pupils near swallows the greenish blue of her irises. He can’t seem to focus on anything else but her. The sounds of others are irritating distractions. 

A giggle. “Nothing lethal, don’t worry. But you’re going to start feeling sick soon. You’ll want to find someone pretty quick to relieve the effects with, otherwise it’s 72 hours of agony.” She looks up, and so does he, as a tall slender man approaches their table. Olive grins, reaching out for the stranger who draws her up against his side. 

“Have fun, James.” She bids farewell, fluttering her fingers once again before she and the stranger head towards the door. James tries to follow after them, but his legs have become as weak as boiled noodles. He ends up sitting back down heavily into his chair.

“ _Goddamnit_.” 

The hissed obscenity earns him severe reproving looks from the patrons around him. It only makes matters worse to realize a second later that the bitch took the swap with her. So he royally botched a simple mission _and_ got drugged in the process. 

This time he forces himself to his feet and remains standing. Damp with a light sweat, his shirt is sticking to his lower back, his armpits are wet, and in his gut there’s a sense of - _wrongness_. 

He needs Q. That’s it. Q and no one else. 

The walk back to MI6 is an indistinct blur. Walking continues to get harder and takes more focus. His feet seem to be heavier and clunkier as if he can’t fully pick them up to walk properly. Pain grips his balls shooting up into his stomach. Goddamn that woman. All his thoughts become consumed by Q. James want to press up against him, feel his slender body against his own, grab that pert ass and run his fingers through Q’s hair.

He only becomes aware of his surroundings as he enters Q-branch. Mainly the insistent quiet clicking of keyboards filling the entire space and the fact that he’s getting sidelong glances from Q’s minions.

James smirks. No doubt Q’s been watching him through the various CC-TVs. As if his thoughts have summoned him, there’s Q striding towards him, brow furrowed. James’ stomach squeezes, his mouth cotton dry.

“007, what’s happened to you? Where’s the hand-off - and - my God.” Q stops in his tracks, eyeing him up and down, eyes wide in shock. “You look like you’re ill. Severely so.” 

James shakes his head, which makes him wobble, his balance gone to shit. At once Q is reaching out for him, concerned. He takes the chance to lean against Q, using him as his entire support to remain standing. Unbidden, a soft moan of relief at all the physical contact escapes, which he muffles in Q’s shoulder. Yes, this is exactly what he needed. Pressed up against Q’s lean frame, arousal tingles up his spine, his balance improved enough that he’s steady on his feet.

Q’s shoulders are tight, his hands lightly resting on James’ waist as if he’s unsure how tightly he should hold on.

“James, you’ve been compromised, haven’t you?” Q quietly asks, his cheek nestled against the side of James’ head. The urge to kiss Q is seeming like a better decision by the second as he pulls back to look at his Quartermaster; however, M disrupts that thought.

“What in God’s name was that, Bond? A simple in and out mission and I hear the target walked away!” M usually saves her castigating for private play in her office, but then again, his fuck-up is rather a supremely done one.

Right now, however, his thoughts aren’t coherent. This should concern him, and on an abstract level, his lungs feel tight, his pulse picking up. But he can’t seem to grasp how to explain this. He wants to put love bites all over Q’s delicate pale throat. Mark for all to see that Q is his alone.

“Madam, there’s something wrong, I--” Q’s voice hitches when James strokes his hand down Q’s back all the way to his belt, slipping his fingers between Q’s shirt and trousers. James smirks at the obvious response. “--I noticed when he came out of the shop he wasn’t acting right. I think he’s been drugged.” 

James doesn’t even have to turn around to know that M is either rolling her eyes in exasperation at her idiotic agent or massaging her eyebrows trying to stop the inevitable migraine at her idiotic agent. The result’s the same either way: aggravation at his recklessness. 

“Then why did he come here and not directly to Medical?” M demands. Silence on Q’s part likely means he’s giving her a look. One that conveys with his eyebrows who exactly they are talking about. 007 avoids the Medical wing for the fact he’s not one to allow himself to be nursed. He is a lone wolf that prefers to lick its wounds alone. 

“Bond, can you hear me? Did the agent you meet with say anything of what’s happening to you?” M asks, directing her concerned tone towards him. Q twitches when James nuzzles right under his ear before turning to M, his skin itching to touch Q without the barrier of clothes. 

“I’m not deaf, M. Just impaired like Q told you. The agent said it wasn’t fatal, but I’ll be in agony for 72 hours if I don’t work it out from my system.” 

M blinks, taken aback at just how perfectly normal he sounds. Granted, it’s a thin thread of self-control that’s keeping him from mauling Q in front of his minions and M. She must see something in his eyes to that effect because she waves them away.

“Take him to Medical and then home. Bond, we’ll be having a _in-depth_ discussion when you’re in your right mind.”

A grin. “‘Course, M. I’d be worried otherwise.” He pulls Q closer into his side, arm wrapped around his slender shoulders.

They make their slow way to Medical, seeing as he has to stop a few times. The symptoms are getting worse. It’s hard to focus, his balance is off as if he’s drunk, and he’s dealing with a hard-on that aches. He pulls Q into a recessed door down another hallway off the main stretch.

“You aren’t bothered by all this, Quartermaster?” James can’t help prodding, allowing himself to finally run his hands through Q’s hair. He studies Q’s face. He’s not sure if he’s looking for lies or the truth in Q’s expressions.

Q’s lips tick upwards in a small smile as he strokes James’ back making pleasure tingles down James’ spine.

“I may not be a Bond girl falling for your seduction tactics, but I’m not blind either. Or without a libido. You’re a handsome man, James, but it’s not just sex I want.” 

That draws James up short. Certainly he’s flirted and bantered with Q over the past year they’ve worked together, Q now being the sole unofficial handler for him on missions. But he’d assumed Q simply wasn’t interested and only flustered because James was disrupting him at work. 

“Then what is it?” he asks, hushed, curious. He strokes Q’s cheekbones, marveling at his pretty, delicate features.

“Vulnerability.”

“And yet you’re still willing to fuck me without that?” James can’t resist the impulse to nuzzle Q’s cheek, planting a kiss on his temple.

\--

It’s not that Q is immune to charm when well-applied, or to a handsome man. Rather, he’s taught himself to keep a tight leash on sexual matters. The new title of Quartermaster only adds an edge to that, but truth be told, it’s a habit that’s developed over the years. No horrible bullying—well, no more than what adolescents inflict upon one another. More that he’s just not found a lover he’s wanted to be that physically vulnerable with. Emotional intimacy is a pleasure Q doesn’t mind sharing with those he loves. Sex...is another matter.

Just as James Bond is an entirely different matter. He is a man of both well-applied charm and beauty.

Q can’t admit in good faith that he’s ready for sex with James. There’s always been a spark between them. Chemistry that lit into a fire after having more opportunities to talk one-on-one, and even more so now that Q is handler for 007 during his missions. But he’s not deluding himself that he wants to casually fuck James. At the same time, seeing him barely in control of himself and clinging to Q like he’s the only safe thing wrenches at his heart. The worst that can come of this is that he loses Bond to morning-after regrets.

“I don’t think James Bond would go to just anyone after being drugged. I’ll chalk it up to my clever wit,” Q primly responds. His heartbeat picks up as James chuckles against his throat, his stubble scratching his skin. The sound vibrates in his chest from where Bond is leaning against him. “Now, let’s go. You’re not dying on me yet.” 

The medical visit turns out to be a waste of time. Of course, medical staff has been alerted to their impending arrival, and as soon as they arrive Q moves to the far side of the examination room when they arrive to allow the doctors to crowd around James. Unexpectedly James’ vitals spike up and keep going up. All the medical personnel rush in to stabilize him. 

“Q. Come here,” James growls, all 007 in his voice. Q sits up from his slouch in the chair in the corner of the room, where he’s been put out of the way. Without hesitation he stands and crosses the room, sliding between the nurses to James’ bedside. The latter is shirtless, with sweat glistening at his hairline. Q doesn’t miss the way the ice blue of his irises are swallowed up by black dilated pupils. 

Bond beckons Q closer with a single finger. It’s ridiculous, the spark that tickles inside his chest at the gesture. 

“Yes, James?” Q asks, stepping up close so that his hip is against the bed frame. James doesn’t reply but simply holds out his hand. Q furrows his brow before resting his palm on James’. An undignified yelp escapes him when James pulls his hand to rest it on his overly warm chest. At once, the alarms on the medical machinery quiet as his vitals steadily fall back to normal levels.

James surveys the assembled medical team, who wear identical stunned expressions.

“Q will take care of me from here on out unless it’s preferred that an agent dies in Medical?” he sweetly wonders out loud. Q’s hand is still resting on James’ chest, and a blush is heating up Q’s face. The team doesn’t want to be responsible for a 00-agent’s death, but what exactly is Q going to do to save him? 

“Shall I call M?” 

The simple suggestion explodes the room into a flurry of activity. Instead of towards the 00-agent, it’s away and out the door. Within ten minutes James is dressed and being wheeled towards MI6’s car park. 

Q waits to say anything until they are settled in an unmarked chauffeured car and heading towards his own flat.

“You threatened them with M, how do you think she’ll like hearing that?”

Remembering James’ condition, Q offers his hand, which James grasps. Heat and pleasure tingle all over his body at the touch. If he didn’t know better, he’d say James had infected him too. The sensation is not helped at all when James rubs his thumb over Q’s knuckles. 

James grins. “Delighted. She’ll love that her name inspires such fear and competency in her staff.” 

Q has to admit he’s completely right about that. 

“You’re being such a gentleman. Isn’t the drug hurting you?” Q can’t resist asking. Because despite the earlier demonstration in Q-branch, and besides holding hands now, Bond has kept to himself. Not that Q wants to be forcibly molested but...the less than socially polite part of his brain very much relishes James being out of control for once. A terrible thing to say but no less true. 

James huffs a smile. “Careful, Q. You almost sound keen for me to jump your bones.” 

Q gently squeezes his hand. “I’ve thought about it before.” Here Q can’t help it; he drops his eyes. “Nearly asked you out so many times for late night dinners when you’d come back to MI6 from missions at two or three am. I always assumed you’d be too tired or not interested.” He shrugs, wanting to play it off as no big deal, trying to protect some of his dignity despite admitting this.

James scooting closer prompts Q to look up, taken aback at his own embarrassing confession, at sharing such a silly wish. He holds stock still when James reaches out with the hand not holding Q’s own to caress his cheek. 

“When this is over and if you can still stand to look at me, I’d love dinner with you, Q,” James murmurs, something in his tone and his earnest eyes making Q blush. 

“If M lets you live after your recovery, dinner is on me. And who can ever stop looking at you?” Q can’t help but joke, feeling the need to lighten the mood a little. His heart is fluttering again. It’s further ramped up seeing the familiar streets of his neighborhood. They’re nearly home now. Thank God, Q regularly washes his linens every Sunday, so everything is fresh and clean for this unexpected liaison. 

“Well—here we are. Nothing too exciting.”

Q finds himself nervously blabbing in a way he rarely does. Still holding hands, he and James exit the car and head inside. It’s as Q’s unlocking the door to his unit that James’ prodigious self-control starts to slip. He crowds up behind Q, nuzzling the back of his head. The butterflies in Q’s chest spread to his stomach. 

His voice turns a touch breathy despite himself when James rests his hands on his hips. “Okay there?”

James is purposefully tormenting him, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck, making pleasure zing up his spine. Q wants to lean back into him, but not out in the hallway where anyone can see them. 

James says, “Alright, but I need more. I can feel the symptoms coming back quicker.” 

Once inside, James stands uncertain in the doorway. No—not uncertain but _restrained_. James’ clenched jaw and drawn-up shoulders clue Q into how much he’s holding back. As if he is physically trying to hold himself back. 

Lust and eagerness well up in Q. He wants that unbridled passion _now_. He wants James to enjoy himself despite the chemicals pumping through his veins. 

“Come here. You look close to losing your mind.” Q smiles, stepping into James’ space again, this time grasping James’ chin and gently pulling him in for a slow, gentle kiss. Nothing overwhelming to start off with. At once, hands are pulling him tight against James, who gasps when Q kisses and then nips at his throat. A blush spreads over Q’s face as he rubs his cheek against James’ blond stubble, loving the scratch against his own.

A low moan from James as they kiss again this time, with James sneaking in a bit of tongue against Q’s bottom lip. Q has to swallow hard and hold onto him because his knees are a little weak.

“Bedroom?” James suggests, licking his lips, his gaze flickering between Q’s mouth and then his eyes. 

Q nods, yipping in surprise at James swooping him into his arms as if he were a bride about to cross the threshold. 

“Bedroom it is,” James agrees, although he gets in another kiss before he heads in that general direction.

“Door on the right. Bathroom is on the left,” Q points out helpfully, pushing open his bedroom door as James approaches it. Inside the bedroom James grins before tossing Q onto the bed, making him laugh out loud.

“Do you throw all your conquests into bed? I can’t say I’ve seen you use that devastating move on honeypot missions yet.” 

Now it’s James who laughs as he strips off his jacket and unbuttons his pale blue shirt. Again heat races over Q. Right, there’s a reason for them to be fooling around in his bedroom, and it’s not for a casual fuck, much as he’d prefer that over chemicals forcing James to do this. Q is distracted by the reveal of James’ toned physique, so soon on display, when James discards his trousers as well. James’ cock presses for attention against his underwear. 

The sight banishes the earlier doubts from Q’s mind. 

He wants James.

“You looked a little glum in the car and I don’t want to be a pity fuck, Q. Think of it as—” James pauses as he climbs into bed, kissing the left corner of Q’s lips teasingly, drawing away when Q tries to properly kiss him. “—as if I decided to take an aphrodisiac on purpose, versus you have to fuck me for country and MI6.” 

Q snorts even as he reaches up to stroke his fingers through James’ close-cropped golden blond hair. James, for his part, hums contentedly, lying down on his side and pulling Q against his body. 

“Are you always this chatty in bed? I don’t recall you ever talking this freely before,” Q teases. 

A caress to his cheek breaks Q’s line of thought before James is scratching his jaw. 

“You’ve only seen me in bed on the clock and me talking isn’t the focus then,” James replies, leaning in to kiss Q’s jaw and cheek. Q hums happily, allowing James’ hands to find their way under the hem of his shirt and push it upwards. Drowsy pleasure washes over him at the burn of stubble against his own. His nipples tingle when James gently bites his throat, the whimper escaping Q unbidden.

Q tugs James down, indicating for him to lay on top of him, happily scratching his nails over James’ tight ass over his underwear, earning him a high pitched moan and another love bite to his throat. James Bond aroused and so fucking ready for him is a dangerous ego boost.

Adjusting so that he can hook a leg around James’ left leg, Q finally gets them situated allowing for easier, enjoyable grinding. No pretending that he isn’t hard himself from all this. He’d have to be dead not to turned on by James.

“You’re suspiciously still clothed, Q. Planning to run out afterwards?” 

Q grins. “Not at all. Just been focused on other things.” The warmth of James’ hand stroking from his knee to his hip has got arousal unfurling in his groin. 

“Well, come on then Q, no time to waste. You don’t want me to suffer, do you?” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “I should make you suffer to teach you a lesson about destroying tech.” He gives an appreciative hum when James scratches his fingers against Q’s scalp, mussing up his hair. 

“Clearly I’ve gotten into a bed with sadist. Now Q. Please take off your clothes. I’ll start dying otherwise.”

**Author's Note:**

> My beta zilia and dragonGirl helped me out with my lack of commas. I appreciate them both greatly <33
> 
> I was very nervous to write James and Q was a difficult bitch to try and puzzle out. What spoke to me from the movies was the very human side there is to James. Yes, he's a highly trained assassin who doesn't stop until the job is done, but what really stood out to me were his moments of intensely emotional scenes. Such as when he stopped to try and staunch the bleeding of a fellow agent. It was M who had to remind and push him to keep on with the mission and not throw it all in order to help this coworker. When James is cradling his dying double-crosser friend that he clearly loved, trying to be the stoic man of ice after Vesper tore apart his heart. 
> 
> I absolutely adore Truth's idea and expression of Bond has a man who wears lots of masks to hide himself. How he's an ice cold killer. At the same time I love exploring the fact how very fragile, tender and human James can be in small moments in the movies and heavily expressing that here. Haha I love my ice cold, merciless killer and at the same time I love him having this very human side despite all that.
> 
> [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject)  
> This fic is part of "Long Live Feedback" project! I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)


End file.
